"No."
"And it started an hour ago."
"Terrible."
"Yeah." My fingers curl into her neck. "It was really something. A spectacle."
"Were they really…"
"Naked? No. They were wearing bow-ties."
She laughs. "But the dick?"
"Swinging in the breeze."
"Oh god. And Simon and Harrison stood there and watched?"
"I wouldn't say they watched, exactly. They were at the bar, talking about some museum in Paris, but they saw plenty."
"And you?"
"Gotta stay with the groom."
She rests her head in the crook of my neck. "Did you… did you get a dance here?"
"No."
"Oh. Good. I… wouldn't be okay with that. I know some women don't mind. Maybe, if we did it together. I don't mind you watching, but I don't want anyone else touching you."
"I don't want anyone else touching me."
"You promise?"
"I do." I pull her closer. "Now, can we get the fuck out of here?"
"Yeah, but I still want to see some dick."
"Some? Or mine?" I turn her around. Press my palm into the small of her back.
"I was hoping for multiple dicks, but I guess I'll take yours."
"You guess?"
"One is less than many."
"You want quantity over quality?"
"I want quality and quantity," she teases.
"I should punish you for that sass, baby."
"You should."
I lead her out of the club.
Finally, we hit fresh air. Quiet. At two blocks from Times Square, I can see the bright neon if I look to the right. Kind of quiet, but bliss, compared to the club.
I've never been a strip club guy, but I've enjoyed it before. That was fucking torture.
Was it all Jimmy?
Or is it something else? Only wanting her?
It's strange, new, intoxicating.
"You want to take the limo home?" I ask.
"You meant what you said about five months? Without another woman?"
"Yeah."
"And you've been tested recently?"
"Last month. Why?"
"Me too. At my last checkup. It's been a while. And I have the IUD…" She looks up at me. "Should we?"
"Should we?"
"Try it without a condom?"
"Where the fuck is that limo?"
Chapter Thirty-Three
Briar
Liam pulls the door closed behind him. He slides onto the bench next to me, rolls the partition, connects his cell to the sound system. "Requests?"
"Do you usually play music?"
"The divider only works so well."
"Considerate."
"Are you teasing me, baby?"
Am I? I'm not sure. I'm nervous. I'm not usually this nervous around Liam. We've been together.
Why are my hands sweaty?
Why are my palms shaking?
It's desire, yes, but it's more.
Liam sees me.
I see him.
Does he love me? Do I love him?
I don't know. I don't even know what it means. Does my dad love my mom? He stays, he makes sure she has food in the fridge and a roof over her head. When she's well, and he sees her smiling, he lights up like a pinball machine.
Does she love him? She stays, even though she knows. She accepts him abandoning her to other women.
But maybe she's doing the same thing too. She isn't abandoning him in favor of other men, but she's still pulling away, locking him out.
It's different. She can't help it. But she's not leaving him a choice either.
Which is worse?
Following in her footsteps, staying with someone who strays?
Or following in her footsteps, pushing away the people who love me, refusing to accept their help?
"Where are you going, baby?" Liam picks a classic R&B hit. He motions to his cell. "All slow jams."
"What if I want fast?"
"I'll play at double speed." He smiles, but there's a weariness to it. He's as worn as I am. "Do you?"
"Want fast? No." I want to feel him, all of him, all of his body against all of mine. The other details don't matter. "This is perfect."
"Good." He scoots closer. "Do I smell like a cheap club?"
"A little."
"This should help." He does away with his suit jacket. Then the tie.
My hand goes to his collar. I undo his top button. The second. The third.
"Are you okay, Bri?"
"I don't know." I press my palm flat against his chest. He feels so good. This simple, gentle touch feels so good. Vibrant and alive. "It's weird, lying to Preston." And not lying to him too. "He loves you."
"I love him."
"I've never heard you say that."
"Maybe." He pulls me into his lap. Looks up at me. "We don't have to fuck."
"Yes, we do."
His laugh is pure delight. "We do?"
"Lose the pants."
"You're still dressed."
"I was promised dick."
He pulls me closer as he laughs.
It's so strange and wonderful, the way his body shakes against mine. The feeling of his joy flowing into me.
Maybe I do love him.
That means something.
I need to stay.
Or I need to leave.
One of the two.
But I can't contemplate that now. I can't lose anything else or suffer any other insights. Not tonight.
Tonight, I need to melt into him. To fall apart in his arms and let him put me back together.
Am I capable? I'm not sure, but I have to try.
No, I have to stop thinking. I have to feel him, feel this, savor every fucking second.